The price of this wreath is yourself!
by Sandungera
Summary: The price of being an heir to the Noble and Ancient House of Black means giving nothing less than your whole entire self, whether one likes it or not. Unfortunately for the House of Black, their new heir is a half-blood, whether they like it or not. OC Centric. Sirius' Daughter Plot. Ficlet. Pairings undecided.
1. Walburga Black

As far as Sundays go, Walburga Black has had better.

Firstly, Kreacher is in an awfully cheerful mood. Usually this wouldn't be a bad thing, as he's more attentive when in a good mood, but the cause of said elation is turning it into an annoyance: the first birthday of Regulus' firstborn could be handled by no other (the menial labor and direction of house elves, anyways), and he's been speculative over every little detail. It's driving her daughter-in-law insane, which only means Walburga has to extend effort in reigning in the damn house elf and calm the woman down. No amount of "the babe will not remember the event" is enough to keep Kreacher tethered to the ground, he has to have the _best_ for Vulpecula. Regulus is no help with it, either, the child has him wrapped around her finger. If the babe wished to be gifted a sphinx, she would wake up to one in the foyer. Her daughter-in-law, while just as dedicated to her family as they (a reason she approved of the match), is more sensible. The only reasonable ones in the home are the witches. As usual.

Secondly, her firstborn is in Azkaban. Let no one say that a Black woman doesn't care about her children, because the moment she heard, she whisked herself out of her depression bed and got dressed to give that useless Minister a piece of her mind: _no_ Black goes to Azkaban, and _especially_ without a trial. His disownment was unofficial: a dramatic display of power to try and sway him back to the right side (nevermind that it didn't work). Not to mention Alphard _still_ left him quite a bit of gold in death, and non-blacks cannot inherit anything from the family. No matter what. Besides, Sirius loved that Potter boy and his mudblood too much to do something as _uncouth_ as betray them. Blacks do not betray. Nevermind that she still believes Sirius to be a blood traitor, that's _different._ He's turned his back on the culture of his people, but not on family. No, _never._ He'd never harm a hair on either of their heads. That is the Black way. No matter how harsh the screaming matches got.

Third, her bloodtraitor firstborn son's personal _mudblood_ is on the front steps of her house dressed like a common Muggle holding…

_What is __**that.**_

Walburga doesn't have bad eyesight, far from it, she's managed to evade the terrible eyesight that runs through her family line (the Black Madness, though, that's another story for another day), and the tapestry had changed just two years ago so she _knows_ she's not hallucinating when she sees-

The Mudblood speaks up and introduces herself, as if Walburga hadn't already memorised her name on the tapestry. Scorned her and burned it off the moment she realized it wasn't a horrible dream, but instead a cruel reality. That her surname wasn't a foreign wizarding name, but a common Muggle one. That her firstborn had gone and _bonded_ himself with scum.

"-and I am a Muggleborn witch." Sweet Circe, why doesn't she just announce it to the entirety of Magical Britain? "And _this_ is your grandchild."

And how _dare_ she-This filth step up on _her_ home, holding up her son's poor precious half-blood, looking as proud as any Black bride with a right to the title. As proud as Regulus' chosen pureblooded bride did when their engagement was announced. How dare that baby breathe, when she should have been lost and taken care of years ago. Vulpecula should have no first cousins.

A forced sneer, because the child is undoubtedly her son's: it has all the classic Black family traits, even as a cubby toddler. Because she can sense the magic swirling around it, as familiar as her own.

_Walburga looks down upon her grandchild and remembers Sirius. She remembers how small he was when he was born. How fiercely he cried. How tightly she held him. The sheer blooming life that burned within his tiny body. How it was then that she knew she had given birth to a warrior._

_Walburga remembers Andromeda. Dear Andy, and her banishment after making that mistake called Edward Tonks. Dear Andy and her poor, half-blood child. A miserable thing robbed of her proper Black title. A great-niece she'll never know. A family member forever lost thanks to the filth._

_Walburga takes a deep breath and remembers Regulus. How much her forced ostracization of Sirius affected him. How her rage had overtaken her when she saw he was sorted into Gryffindor-It was the only proof she needed to know that she had lost him. All those rebellious outbursts, his refusal to go along with their family's traditions, it wasn't all just a phase. She couldn't let him take Regulus too, no matter what._

Her chin tilts up, challenging, "What is her name?" It hasn't shown up on the tapestry (_Walburga still recalls the day when she saw that their unholy union had produced a child, she had half a heart attack)_, that can only mean she hasn't been named yet, which is strangely appropriate. A proper mother should wait to name her child, not like Muggles who decide _months_ before the birth of the babe. At least Sirius had the sense to find a Mudblood without gravel in her head. Of course he lacked the common sense to have a pureblood. For Hecate's sake, he could have at least gotten a common poor pureblood like a Weasley or an Olivander.

The look in the Mudblood's eyes is triumphant. A general cheering her battle cry. Walburga expects no less at the first utterance of a Black baby name, and the fact that it's being given by someone worth less than the dirt under her fingernails burns at her heart and pride. She's sure Sirius would have _loved_ to have witnessed this moment, and that added thought hurts more. The insolent boy.

"_Ursala._" The name folds over Walburga like a crashing wave over the shore, she can _feel_ it weaving itself into the fabric of the tapestry, binding the toddler to her rightful family, "Ursala Rebekah Black."

* * *

Not sure what I was thinking starting another project. This won't be as long (probably) or as detailed (probably) as Serpentine, but it probably takes place in a similar universe (meaning you might see characters from Serpentine in this fic, but in different roles/ages!). Rather than long chapters with chronological events, it'll be snippets of people in the kid's life interacting with her through their POV. You'll also see Regulus' kid around too.

Ursala: After Ursa Major/Minor, _she-bear._ Alternate form of Ursula, meaning little bear.

Rebekah: "From the Ecclesiastic Late Latin and Ecclesiastic Greek Rhebekka, which is derived from the Hebrew רִבְקָה ribbqāh (noose), from rabak (to bind, to tie)." You may now make your Friday jokes.


	2. Aurora Black (neé Greengrass)

Aurora Black (neé Greengrass) considers herself to be a very reasonable woman.

Her stable head on her shoulders kept her from making mistakes with lifelong consequences (much unlike her husband, and that _unsightly_ tattoo of his). It helped keep her head above water and down enough to avoid people's attention. A quiet snake. Hiding in the grass and keeping out of sight (somedays, she wonders how she managed to snag Walburga Black as a mother-in-law, but that is a story for another day).

Today's story is her watching her _niece._

Ursala and Vulpecula took one look at each other and have been unable to stray further than two meters away from the other. It bodes well for her daughter (_she was beginning to feel she was a little too antisocial, she doesn't take much interest in her second cousin, but that might be because Draco is terribly bratty_) to have playmates with good breeding (well, _half_ good breeding), and more so with someone of her blood. Regulus is still in shock (or denial, perhaps), but she expects him to check into reality by the end of the week. Hopefully just in time for him to make an official declaration to the public.

"Bear!" Ursala declares, patting the area where her favorite toy would be seated for the playdate, "Bear!"

Vulpecula, still too young to talk (Walburga suspects she'll be a late bloomer like her father), stares at her cousin impassively. Ursala takes this as a confirmation and sits the stuffed animal down.

"Where will the fox sit?" Aurora asks, because she's never spoken to the child of a mudblood before-She's curious. And she can't say that the halfling's mother (_her goodsister_[1], for Merlin's sake) trusts her enough to stay in a room with her (_though she trusts her enough to leave her alone with her child. Mudbloods are curious indeed._) So with whom else can she learn about the less-than-pure?

Ursala stares at Aurora, contemplating the question seriously, before gently patting the space in front of Vulpecula. Vulpecula yawns. Eleven month olds are terribly boring, but seeing how full of life her niece is brings some excitement to Aurora for what awaits her own offspring (not her tantrums, however, those she's sure were inherited from Walburga).

"Rori." Ursala calls her, "Rori rori."

"Yes, Ursala?" What a fine name. The mudblood did good by it. She'll comment about it once she returns, "Are you hungry?"

"Belle." She nods her head, black curls bobbing up and down with her movements.

"Kreacher." She summons, the elf appearing with a snap.

"Yes, Lady Regulus[2]?"

"Bring us a plate of fresh fruit. Make sure to cut up the big ones so Ursala doesn't choke."

"The halfbreed isn't worthy of eating with Lady Regulus and Lady Vulpecula. Kreacher does not know why Mistress Black allowed her and the mudblood into the house-"

"Noted." She ignores him, "Regardless, Vulpecula wishes to eat with her cousin. Bring her some cantaloupe to gum on, as well."

As expected, the mention of her daughter's wants changes his tune, "Right away Lady Regulus." He disappears to the kitchen, still bitter, probably thinking about another way to tell her mother-in-law that the two _new_ additions to the family shouldn't be here.

She hums as her niece begins her daily _Kreach Kreach Kreach!_ chants, marching around the playroom with Vulpecula giving her all the attention in the world. It warms her ice cold heart, truly-Hopefully the two would become closer rather than estranged as they grew. The way her husband and brother-in-law did. Family should protect each other. Be loyal to each other. Like herself and her brother, Ellis-Who needs to bring his little Daphne over for a playdate with the cousins as well...Once she broke the news to him and his wife, that is. That'll be a _fun_ conversation.

A sigh, she should have asked Kreacher for a wineskin as well.

"Rori!" Ursala comes up to her, placing her chubby little hands on the tops of her knees and batting at them like drums, "RoriRegulus! RoriRegulus!"

"_Lady_ Regulus." She corrects, making sure to point to her mouth and enunciate, "_Lay-dee-Re-geu-lus."_

The two year old stares, "Lady." She tries, bouncing up on her toes with every word, "LadyLadyLadyLadyLady. Laaayyyydeeee Regulus."

That would have to do. "Quite."

She continues her march around the room.

_Lady Regulus._ She's done quite well for herself, if you ask her. Granted, Vulpecula will no longer be the _true _heir to the House of Black, but a part of her is (quite honestly) relieved that Sirius managed to get it up long enough to be with a woman successfully (she had _suspicions_ about himself and Potter at school, may he and his wife rest in peace.) Walburga has some very...archaic views of heirs. Soulsucking. Stressful. Intense. Call her a lightweight but Aurora was raised a _Greengrass._ And they do things a little differently in her home. Mainly _not_ engage so freely and willingly in the throws of dark magicks (they _flirt_ with the idea, but never commit). Ursala and her mudblood mother showing up were, quite frankly, a literal blessing. Although she _will_ miss holding the official title of Mistress Black, it's not worth the binding contract needed in order to lead the oldest wizarding clan in the country.

"_Guh._" Vulpecula bubbles wiggling closer to her still marching cousin.

Aurora nods once. Quite right.

* * *

[1] Medieval term for sister-in-law

[2] "Lady Husbandfirstname Surname" is a proper way to address daughters of nobility who marry other nobility (it's more nuanced than that, but). Basically. I figured British wizards work similarly.

This fic is meant for me to write at least ONCE a week so...yeah. Not beta'd, and messy. Glad people seem to like it tho.


	3. Remus Lupin

If someone had told Remus Lupin that he would be in this situation not even a month ago, he would have quietly removed himself from the conversation and ask about that someone's current state of mind.

It wasn't enough that James and Lily were dead-_murdered_ cruelly. That little Harry was gone 'somewhere safe' and Dumbledore would not tell him. That Sirius is in Azkaban because he sold them out to He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named, _fuck._

No, none of these things were enough. He had to get a call from his cousin about it-About Sirius and _his child, fuck, that's right, __**Sirius has a child.**_ _Is that why he betrayed them to Voldemort? To protect them?_ He could have seeked help from The Order, they would have done everything they could have-

_"Sirius is innocent you fucking toerag._" Lily's influence on her can't be mistaken, "_How dare you believe he was anything other than loyal?_"

The words stung him. Broke his bones, really. Left his throat dry and his lungs devoid of air. But his mind refused to wrap around the idea: the idea that he didn't advocate for his friend. That he left him to rot in Azkaban at the word of Dumbledore.

_"He didn't even get a trial._"

He didn't even get a trial. Their beloved Minister (_a sodding coward,_ Lily called him) wanting to look competent. Wanting to have people's trust by locking up as many Death Eaters as he can-Remus scoffs, because so many had gone free _with_ trials. Malfoy and Goyle and…

He swallows an uncomfortable lump in his throat as he thinks about _Snape._

It comes right back once he spots his cousin approaching him, a toddler in her arms-_Oh G-d,_ _is that..?_

He stands, wobbly because he hasn't eaten in who knows how long, and he really should order more than water at this café, but he's out of money and out of luck and out of _friends and out of-_

"Good fuck." His cousin addresses him, "Close your mouth, Remus, flies will lay eggs in it."

"_Fuck._" Says the little one, "Fuck!"

"Oh shit, look what you did-" She pinches the toddler's cheeks (softly, she's always been delicate), "No, Chaya, honey, don't use that word, your _witch_ of a grandmother will have my head."

"Gammy?" There's no fear in the eyes of the child, _thank goodness._

"Yes, Chaya, your gammy."

Lupin can't help but chuckle at the thought of seeing someone as towering and intimidating as Walburga Black being called _gammy._ He hopes she'll start using bobe soon.

"It's good to see you, Rachel." It is. He feels lighter already, it's been so long since they went into hiding. He wonders, does the child remember him? Surely she's been named by now, "And this is…?"

She adjusts her hold on the girl, lifting her chin up with familiar satisfaction, "This is my pride and joy. The scourge of Black family ancestors. The fruit of my half-hour _excursion_ with Sirius, and a resulting forty-eight hour labor." The toddler begins to stick her fingers in her mouth, "Ursala Rebekah Black."

"Hi." Ursala's words come out mumbled through her fingers.

Remus feels a flourish of love for her.

"What a mouthful."

"Yeah, it's catchy, right?"

Ursala begins to tell Remus what her name means, but she talks so fast, all he can make out are 'noosethebear', which is concerning, but he only smiles and goes along with it, "You've grown so much." It feels like centuries since he's seen his little niece (well, the term is probably closer to third cousin once removed, but-) "Rachel, you've cut your hair."

"Out of rebellion." Yes, that's the reasoning behind most of her actions, "Purebloods all have a hard-on for long hair, thought I'd mix it up by wearing my mudblood badge proudly." That's true. Short hair is still a bit of a taboo amongst young witches in pureblooded circles, "Did you order?"

He pulls out a seat for her to sit down before returning to his own, "No, I'm not hungry."

"The fuck you are, I'm getting you lunch, don't argue with me."

"Fuck!" Ursala agrees.

And really, how can Remus argue with that?


	4. Narcissa Malfoy (neé Black)

Narcissa Malfoy (neé Black) has certainly seen a lot of _shit_ in her life, but this is an entirely different situation altogether.

On the soft, enchanted rug to her right sits her son: her precious baby boy with a chubby face and delicate, dark wispy hair (just as hers had been at birth). Mother had taken one look at him and declared him her favorite grandchild...Nevermind that he was her **only** grandchild.

To the left of Draco is his cousin, her _niece,_ because Reggie was always her favourite cousin, and he might as well have been her little brother for how they grew up. Vulpecula is a curious baby, a bit standoffish compared to how loud Draco is, but still a lovely child. Takes after her father in every way.

_And in the middle of the two of them…_

Ursala (_the child of a mudblood_) has taken to arranging Draco's toys in an organized, pleasing manner: an almost perfect circle surrounding the two eleven month olds (_one year old_ in just two days). Vulpecula is quiet as always, watching her older cousin with a focused interest that Narcissa has only seen on grown adults. Draco is the one that's acting off: he's completely mesmerized by the arrangement of his toys, staring at them intensely as if they hypnotized him. It's the stillest she's ever seen him outside of sleeping, and while she's enjoying the peace, it unnerves her.

Then Sirius' child commands "Go!" and Draco smacks down the circle, giggling. Ursala cheers and Vulpecula yawns.

To be frank, Narcissa doesn't know what to make of her estranged cousin's child. Children of mudbloods are naturally inclined to be a little slower, yes, but there was no sign of that with her (_probably the Black blood countering that_). In fact, she seems a little smarter than most of the other children her age that Narcissa's interacted with (Flint's son, Marcus, was having problems, she remembers, she should check up on that). Of course, as smart as any two year old can be. Certainly no genius.

Across from her are her cousin, goodcousin, and the mudblood's mother: _the_ mudblood. Her _other_ goodcousin.

Narcissa sips her tea and tells Dobby to fetch more scones and clotted cream.

She's not sure what to make of Rachel either. At Hogwarts, she kept away from dirty blood at the expectance and request of her family, and never felt any curiosity about them. What is there to be curious about? What does a worm have that interests a lioness? Nothing. The lioness shouldn't even notice the worm. But looking at her now, she can see what Sirius liked about her. A certain fierceness in the eyes, a kindled fire. Unabashed pride in her dirty blood, as evidenced by her too-short hair. Her smudged name.

She wonders if her name on the Black family tapestry means they got married. If he knew that her name was on the family tree. If he was serious about her and the child, or just thought about having a family as fast as he could before...

Of course, she believes the bit about Sirius being innocent: he and Potter were joined at the hip growing up, it would be like betraying his own _brother._ Preposterous to believe that _he_ got imprisoned whereas her husband left the trial smelling like daffodils, but that was the reality. Perhaps if she had also been there to advocate on _his_ behalf, her cousin could be here with them...Well, if anyone can get him out of Azkaban, it's Aunt Walburga. A true banshee, she is. She expects to be summoned to court for Sirius' late trial any day now.

On the other side of the table, Regulus' cup of tea remains untouched, cooling in the still air that hangs over them all. Aurora has doused hers with some cream, no sugar, and Rachel has dropped an unseemly amount of the substance in her cup. Narcissa waits, until Regulus drinks or until he finally-

"He's not dead, Narcissa." Aurora says, speaking the words Regulus was struggling to say, "Reggie's seen it. He's done the unspeakable."

Narcissa's hands tense around her teacup and Regulus presses his mouth into a thin line, looking too grim for a man of twenty.

"Unspeakable?" There's hardly anything taboo for a Black, but when Narcissa thinks about how _quiet_ Regulus has been since before his wedding to Aurora, she wonders about what he discovered. Why he turned his back to You-Know-Who after so many atrocities committed.

"He made a horcrux, Malfoy." Rachel says, crass and blunt and very Gryffindor like.

Narcissa almost spits out her tea.

Regulus flinches at the word.

Draco pushes his palm onto Ursala's cheek. She squeals. Vupecula sneezes.

"He _what._" She's no naïve little fool, though she's certainly excellent at playing the part. Well aware of what some wizards would do to get what they want, having grown up as a Black with dark objects in her childhood home, she's unphased by most things.

_But a horcrux–Sweet Circe._

"So that's why you left." She places her cup back on its saucer, laying them down on the table gently.

Regulus nods, "I couldn't follow a wizard monstrous enough to create such a thing–"

"Monstrous enough to kill Muggles and muggleborn?" Rachel cuts, merciless. Any other time, Narcissa might admire the venom, but now she just finds it uncouth.

Regulus doesn't say anything to her. Aurora rubs his back soothingly.

"_Regardless._" Narcissa clears her throat, not backing down in her own home to a mudblood, of all things, "I never liked that you took the mark, Reggie–It's not like a Black to follow. We lead."

Unspoken is the knowledge of her eldest only sister in Azkaban.

Regulus scoffs in amusement, nodding, "I thought I was doing the right thing. Making our family _proud._" His fist tightens to the point where his knuckles go white, "...Mother hated the idea from day one."

Narcissa can only imagine. Walburga having one of her sons _bowing_ to another lord like some common wizard...It gave her ulcers, surely.

"Does Lucius–Is his mark still there as well?" Aurora whispers, as if someone were spying on them (an amusing thought: _nothing_ gets through Narcissa's wards).

"Yes." She replies with some hesitation, "...He believes him truly dead, but I..."

"_You know better._" Rachel says, and oh she must stop, because if she keeps this up, Narcissa will end up _liking_ her presence, "Someone like that cannot just disappear."

No. No they cannot.

She orders Dobby to play with the children.

"Do you have it?" She asks Regulus, and he blanches. Nods. "Where is it?"

"With Kreacher." Ah, yes, his elf. Always was unnaturally attached to it. Unnaturally kind. Reggie was always so _soft._ "He helped me retrieve it."

And he tells the story to the table–By the looks on his wife and goodsister's faces, they haven't heard the whole tale either.

Instead of listening, the children continue their play: Ursala chanting Dobby's name over and over as he does a dance for them. Draco shrieking in laughter. Vulpecula bubbling her little babble. And good. That's good. Narcissa doesn't want them to grow up with the knowledge that they once resided in the same room as Regulus while he recounted tales of his near-death experience. They should never have to know what a horcrux is or what it takes to make one. Even little Ursala, who, despite everything, is still a _Black._ Is still family. Her blood.

Regulus is shaking by the end of it. Aurora tightly gripping his hand to steady him. Rachel is silent, arms crossed and stern. It reminds Narcissa of her father, of all people.

"Are you committed?" Rachel speaks, addressing him, addressing them all, "Are you committed to ending Voldemort's life?"

The name makes the purebloods at the table flinch. Narcissa can now _almost_ understand why Walburga let her into the house.

"Because I know you've seen him face-to-face, and from what I've heard he hardly looked human anymore." The tension coils at her implication.

"You think he made–You think he made more than one?" Aurora sounds scandalized. Rightfully so.

"I do." Rachel's face remains impassive, "I think the fucker's so afraid of dying, he loaded up his soul into as many pieces as possible."

Usually Narcissa would chide the language in front of her son, but she doesn't remember to do so. Instead, she recalls the meetings held in her home–Merlin, _her_ home. The solemn talks, the interrogations that would take place, the pure dark energy radiating off of him–Yes, that was not the magical signature of a man who was whole. His eyes, so red, so _hungry._ A powerful desperation that threatened to devour all in its path.

"So are you committed? Do you want to do the right thing?"

Regulus looks over at the children, and Narcissa knows in that instant what his answer is. She looks too and knows as well.

* * *

Idk about ages and timelines, does it really matter? Does it!

As usual, this is unedited and not beta read. Thanks for reading + commenting, y'all.


	5. Nymphadora Tonks

Dora Tonks, aka Nymphadora Tonks but don't call her that unless you want her to spit in your eye because she will! is craving some Crunchy bars.

Mum and Pops are speaking real low and sharply in the kitchen so they think she can't hear but if she concentrates, she can extend parts of her eat out (it's wicked cool!) and hear out parts of their conversation. Words like _for Christ's sake Andy_ and _Can't trust that bitch_, and it's not really too interesting, but when there's nothing on the telly until at least two, ya gotta take what you get.

"Mum." She walks into the kitchen and the two of her parents separate like she just caught them snogging (ew) and Mum smiles at her.

"Yes, love?"

"I want Crunchies."

"Crunchies?"

Pops looks defeated, but he answers the call, "The candy bars, Andy––Dora, you haven't finished your snack, have you?"

She hasn't, "Pops, it's just a few grapes left."

"You know the rules, Dora."

She huffs, and is about to stomp her foot when Mum clears her throat, expectant, "_Nymphadora._"

Ugh! Her hair burns bright red, like her mother's face when she's laughing and she's drunk from the locked cabinet in the living room where Dora's not allowed even though once she shifted her fingernail into a key and didn't even find any good things in there.

Mum looks upset at what's about to be her temper tantrum, because she's too old for tantrums but it's not about the Crunchies, it's about her name! Don't call her that! Even if Mum _is_ her mum, she doesn't care. She doesn't care because it's a stupid name and everyone at school thinks so too, especially the girl she likes and––

"Dora," Pops is always good at getting her to calm down, "How would you like to meet your cousins?"

"_**Ted.**_" Mum's voice doesn't get like that unless she's real mad. It makes Dora freeze, but seeing Pops' fearless face helps ease her up. Her hair turns to a bright pastel blue.

"Billie and Sal?" She's confused! She just played with her two cousins just the other day (they're still six and four, so they're a little young, but Dora loves em' all the same.

And Pops smiles, "No, dear, your other cousins."

Dora can feel Mum's magic sparking. It's right on the edge, and she's not going to be the one to push her!

"It's okay, Dora." Pops insists, and she trusts him.

She sniffs, wipes her nose with her sleeve, "I've got more cousins?"

Mum looks in pain. She sucks her teeth and has a seat, "...Yes, dearie." She sounds like she just admitted she ate farts for breakfast, "Through my cousins...And my sister."

Huh. Dora tilts her head, absorbing the information, "Is your sister the one who's a bitch?"

There's the spark again, but it dies down quickly enough. Not enough to have Dora _not_ reel back in caution, "No-I said _witch._ Witch, dear. Not...not that word."

"Oh." Well that's silly, they're all witches here! "Who's a witch?"

"_Your great aunt Walburga._"[1] Pops supplies, earning a big ol' slap from Mum.

"I have a great aunt?" This was news. She has cousins other than Billie and Sal, _and_ she has a whole great aunt out there. And Mum––She has a sister! That makes her her aunt, right?

Her parents are talking again. While she was busy imagining what her new family members were like. In hushed voices, even fiercer than before. Murmuring about _You-Know-Who _and _He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named_, and they've lost Dora for this part of the convo, so she tries to see if she can sneak behind them while they're arguing and grab a chocolate bar, imagining what her cousins on Mum's side are like.

She hopes they're witches, like she is. That would be really nice.

* * *

[1] This joke, I admit, was blatantly stolen from the fic They're Hiding Inside Me by TheDivineComedian on AO3. It's a great fic, please read it.


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